Memories That Taunt You
by Mistykins06
Summary: In the aftermath of Moriarty's return, Sherlock is struggling to come to terms with losing the one that mattered the most. **major Character death warning.**
1. Chapter 1

After death comes the quiet. The still finality of a life having reached it's apex and flickering out. The stillness is unbearable when the death comes suddenly. It touched every aspect of the past, the present and changes the future permanently. When the death is not only traumatic, but intentional it does more than trigger loss. It triggers fear. The fear of what and who else could be taken away next.

Such was the aftermath of the death of Molly Hooper. Those that knew her best knew of her never failing devotion to Sherlock Holmes. But few knew of the consulting detectives fondness for her. Even fewer knew just how high that esteem had grown.

Walking into the remains of the burnt out morgue, seeing the charred remains of Molly had broken something in Sherlock Holmes. He had stood frozen unfocused on the melee of a sobbing Mary and a near desperate John who was pointlessly seeking a pulse on the corpse. When he finally gave up John stood and handed him a pristine note card from Moriarty.

I told you I'd burn the heart out of you. Silly of you to let it out and about on its own. Rather careless weren't you, Sherlock? Miss you much. -M

The note floated from his hands, near where her body lay, and Sherlock stayed still.

The investigators arrived and removed the three to check them out, particularly Mary and refused to allow them reentry. Mycroft's men escorted them to Baker Street and that's where the silence flooded.

Mary sat in John's chair, while her husband paced the kitchen, looking for anything to do to keep him distracted. And Sherlock simply stood still. The pain froze him. He hurt. Physically ached with the inadequacy crushed him with the weight of his failure to save Molly. Molly who had repeatedly the saved him.

Failure and loss mixed to create intense pain. It felt like slamming the ground after the fall. Blinding and buzzing.

Mary stood and went to join John in the kitchen. He pulled her back to his chest then rested his chin on her shoulder and placed both hands on her swollen belly. "He's not taking this well at all," Mary spoke softly.

"I've never seen him this bad." John murmured, eyeing the still figure across the room.

"That card, the one that the bomber left. Did it mean anything to you?" Mary asked.

"The burning of the heart bit, that was quoting Moriarty, "John stilled, "I've told you how Moriarty kidnapped me, strapped syntax on me and used me as a puppet against Sherlock. But did I tell you that we'd met him earlier at St Bart's? We were following the clues and working in the lab when Molly introduced us to her boyfriend who'd popped in. Poor thing was so proud of her office romance," John recalled, "after he left, Sherlock told Molly callously that 'Jim' was in fact gay. Even pointed out how he knew it to be true using the particularly with a damning evidence of a phone number dropped before he left. Molly stormed off, and he asked me how that had not been kind to tell her. Later on, I got kidnapped and strapped in a syntax vest and Moriarty revealed himself to us as the same man we'd met as 'Jim' in the lab. Molly was just being used to gain access to Sherlock," John paused, remembering that day at the pool. "Moriarty told Sherlock that he was going to destroy him. He told him that he was going to burn the heart out of him. "

"And now he's kept his word," Mary surmised.

"But Molly? They aren't that close, Mary. I don't know that they've even spoken all that much since we found him high. Why go after Molly?"

"Well, he trusts her implicitly. She assisted him in faking his death. He uses her home as a bolt-hole," Mary thought aloud. "But surely you saw how he looked at her when she wasn't looking at him?"

"No, that's not him," John denied.

"He loves her, John." Mary cringed. "Loved. You'd have to be a blind idiot not to see it."

"He doesn't do love, Mary." John spoke adamantly.

"Sherlock loves you," Mary pointed out. "He died for you, Greg and Mrs. Hudson. Why couldn't he have loved Molly too? Why couldn't he have felt romantically towards her?"

"Mary, I've sat in this very flat and watched Sherlock's tear Molly Hooper apart," John reasoned, "He doesn't do girlfriends. At least not for real."

"That doesn't mean he does not love her though. Look at how much he's done for us to keep us safe. What would he have done to protect her? What lengths of preservation?"

"Not enough though apparently," John said sadly. "And Moriarty made sure to remind him of that in his letter," John stilled, "Oh God, Mary if you are right he'll never forgive himself."

Mary turned out of John's arms. "We've got to help him focus. To finish this once and for all." With purpose, Mary strode across the room towards Sherlock.

Sherlock still felt grounded in place. Weighed down by so much... feeling. Suddenly, there was a sharp slap across his face. A feminine hand.

"Molly," he groaned like a prayer.

"No. No, Sherlock. Not Molly. Molly's... Molly's gone. The now it's important we find who did this. For her. For you. For all of us." Mary said quietly.

"Mary..." An anguished sound of frustrated disappointment ripped out of the tall man and he sank down to the floor, head between his knees. "She can't be gone. Molly can't be."

Mary's arms wrapped around him and he felt John's strong grip on his shoulder from the other side. "We're here, Sherlock. We will do whatever it takes to bring them to justice," John assured.

"John, John. I need... I need something. Something to make this pain go away. Please. Please!" Tears fell from Sherlock's eyes, open and unchecked. "Help me make this pain to stop."

Anguished, John turned to Mary. In all the years and fits, none was this bad. It was unbearable to see his friend like this, Mary gave a small nod and John stepped out to the hall to contact Mycroft. Clearly something had to be done before Sherlock went off to seek his own means alternative to forgetting.

Mary convinced Sherlock to stand, and remove his coat. She sat him in his chair and removed his shoes. Then she took his hand in her own. "Sherlock, focus on me." She waited till his red rimmed eyes connected with hers. "I know you loved her. I did too. And we will mournher. But not now. Not till after we find Moriarty. John is fetching something to help you, but for now, while it's fresh, you need to commit the scene today to memory. It's important, Sherlock. Do you think you can do it?" He nodded, knowing she was right. "Good, I'll be right here if you need me. I promise you'll not be alone." She squeezed his and his eyes slid shut.

Sherlock mentally accessed his mind palace. He wondered hesitantly in and avoided the wing of friends and loved ones and instead went towards his work area. Opening a new door, he built the familiar crime scene in his mind, layering in the damage over its pre-explosion look. Soon he was standing in a duplicate of the morgue he was in earlier, examining it for all the signs it would give. Suddenly the familiar sound of the hospital door sounded behind him and a voice spoke out, "So, bad day was it?"

A/N in sorry about this, so so sorry. The truth is I've had this in my head for over a year in my prompts file with a warning that people will hate me but I seriosuly wouldnt put It past the writers to do something like this for the sake of the story. And well, if Molly gets to stay in the story but only existing in the mind palace then... Well I won't be happy but it's something so yes, I'm sorry.

Id also be remiss not to thank my faithful beta, TheNewJefferson who I blindside with this pain. Thank you beautiful!


	2. Chapter 2

*Memories that taunt you 2 *

"So, bad day was it?" Her cheery voice rang out.

Sherlock turned to her and drank in the achingly familiar sight of her. Swinging ponytail over pristine lab coat. Bulky sensible shoes clattering across the morgue of his mind. "Molly." The image before him smiled shyly, her teeth gently nibbling at her lip coyly, eyes glittering mischievously. So familiar and so beautiful. "Molly..."

"So who do we have today, let's see..." Molly strolled over to the body; her body; and ran a discerning eye over the corpse head to toe. Showing no sign of recognition she delivered her opinions "So our victim here is female, approximately 30-35 years old. These burns are pretty intense, the victim of an explosion. I'll need to run some tests on what I find though before I rule the final COD but my gut ruling is that she died nearly instantly. But there's no real defensive wounds as if she tried to avoid it. So we'll have to see." She indicated towards the burns over her face and body. "I'll work of determining an ID for you. Molly looked back at Sherlock in his silence, almost wonderingly. "What's wrong Sherlock?"

"I... I already know who she... Who she is."

"Oh my! I'm so sorry to hear that. Is it someone you know well?" She asked coming to stand before him, concern for him evident. Sherlock couldn't hold it back and he broke. "Molly.." He swept her into his arms and clung to her, crying out her name endlessly. And Molly, she clung back as tight as she could. Holding and stroking his hair just as she'd done when he needed soothing in the past when he had sought her out. She whispered to him as she coddled and caressed him, soothing tones and murmurs but he didn't relax at all, his anguish telling her that he needed more time than ever before. Molly began to lowering herself down to the ground and he followed her, grasping at her lap as he buried his face into her legs, holding onto her for dear life.

"Do you want to talk to me about it? About... Her? Would that... that help you?" Oh God Molly, she deserved a sainthood. How did she always do that? What did it cost her personally to put aside her jealously and personal feelings to be so available to him? And he knew that she was a bit surprised that the person before him caused such atypical response from him. After all, she'd seen him grieve here over a woman once before. "Did you know each other for a long time."

"Years." He let out in a throat worn whisper.

"A friend?" She sighed, pulling her fingers through his hair, carding them in and out soothingly.

"Yes... And no." He answered heavily. "I'm afraid we had not been close in a few months. Not since after I... I let her down."

"Did the two of you... Um... Work together?" She asked, her finger continued their soothing ministration's through his hair allowing him to settle down.

"Yes. Often. "

"Oh." She hesitated. "Was she... a nice person to work with?"

"She's the most capable person I know at her job. And she was the nicest person I've ever met."

"That's the highest praise I think I've ever heard you give, Sherlock. She must have been special in deed." Silence surrounded them as Sherlock simply held and felt her near.

"Do you know what happened to her? Who did this, or why?" Molly questioned.

"Yes. She was killed because of me." Sherlock breathed. "He killed her because of me."

"Who? And why, Sherlock?"

"It was Moriarty's doing, Molly. I don't know how he is back, but the message that was broadcast was real. Someone, whether it was an agent of his or if he did it himself, that I don't know. All I know is that he killed...He did this to her because of her connection with me. Because... she saved my life."

Molly stilled her ministrations. Perhaps reading through all that he wasn't saying. She seemed lost in thought and it made Sherlock panic a bit. He tried to focus on her solidness, her breathing anything to make her still be here with him. And he clung to it when he couldn't feel it. Shifting to look up at her face as it stared up to the body on the table. Sherlock read the signs and knew that his minds rendering of Molly was going into a sort of shock. Frozen as it absorbed this new information.

A woman who worked with Sherlock, that had a connection to Moriarty. Someone he trusted implicitly. A person he'd let down a few months back.

Her.

Molly's eyes looked down at Sherlock. "Oh." She whispered as she registered and excepted the connection she held to the body on the slab. "Oh... I see."

Sherlock sat up and lifted his hands to her face willing her to look into his eyes. When she finally did there was a deep lost sadness in them, one that resonated within him deeply. "If I had known he was alive Molly, had I known there was do much as a hint of a threat to you... I'd have done everything, everything within my power to save you."

"But you didn't." She woodenly reminded him. The words seemed off, as if played from a recording. A soundtrack that wasn't matching up to her mouths movements. His minds way of reminding him that her being there, being together wasn't real.

"I didn't." He affirmed weakening and leaning his forehead down to her. "I failed you in the deepest way and I'm sorry Molly. I am so, so sorry that I couldn't save you."

"You didn't know Sherlock." A hand reached up to hold him near his neck, as if feeling for his heartbeat. The worlds were tender in his minds ear, before they suddenly repeated themselves with an angry tone. "You didn't know, Sherlock! How could you not have known he was alive?" She asked far too calmly far to one dimensionally still. As if the words being said weren't her own, which he allowed was the truth if it. He could never imagine the real Molly telling him that he has failed her. Even though he had.

"Everything pointed to him being dead. Everyone I met indicated that his web was in complete disorder and that he was absolutely gone. There was no warning, this... This came out of no where."

She mercifully fell silent, but was just as solid as she had been. With a calming sigh she spoke again. "So... What happens now? If I'm... Gone. How can I still be...here?"

"Well this is just my mind palace, it's not the real world, but a part of you has been here with me for years now. During my exhale, even here with me in the morgue when I was dying, therefore it makes sense that a part of you could stay here now that..."

"Now that I'm dead too?" She gave him a halted smile. "Why not! I mean I'm toast anyways." She said nodding her head up at the body on the table.

"Molly... Your jokes...don't... please."

"Oh. Was that too soon?" She chuckled smiling down at him adoringly. "Besides, it's just transport. You always say that's all the body is anyway. So why can't I joke about my transport being put permanently out of service? The car has pulled into the station, so to speak, nevermore to roam." She turned to look at him and smiled a little quirky smile as she laughed. "Just be sure to 'Mind' the Gap."

Sherlock groaned an achy sound out, one that would have been a chuckle had he not felt so... Grieved. His eyes closed in pain, but a rusty chuckle escaped despite itself it was followed by a hint of a smile that caused a mad sounding giggle. Soon he and she both were laughing uncontrollably. Heaving as breaths rushed in and out. Sherlock rolled off her lap, sitting up only to point at her as tears ran down her face. Molly was bright and flushed as she laughed, sucking in air only to expel it out leaving her nearly barking like a seal. He'd teased her about that before, always prided himself in making her laugh like that.

Now he would never do it again. Abruptly he was threw with his mirth. Instead the pain intensifies double. These moments like this where he'd been here with her in the lab, bantering, working laughing. They were gone.

"Don't do that. Don't think about it too deep Sherlock. I'm here and I'm going to help." Molly stood up reaching her hand out to help him stand. "So let's get to work, alright? Let's see what my body has to tell us about what happened."

They stood, Sherlock refusing to let go of her hand as they and stepped closer to the table both staring down at the body. Molly realized his donned her gloves, and Sherlock watched transfixed as she struggled to get her hands into the gloves. Drinking in the familiar nose wriggle that she always unconsciously did while performing the action.

Little things. Simple, everyday normal Molly things. Things he'd never see her do in person again. He steadied his breath and looked to see she was prepped to begin her autopsy.

"Well, shall we, um remove the outer layer? "

"Ah." Sherlock froze. He had to see, but it wasn't something be wanted to spend time thinking about. Let alone imagine. He turned, allowing himself to turn away and fast forward to examine the clothes after they have been removed. There was need for him to only see this' part after all. For now, he reasoned.

Eyes roamed over the clothes that Molly had dressed herself in this morning, but someone else had cut away that afternoon "Stop thinking about it. Let's solve it, alright?" Molly snapped from behind him. "Victim is a female 33 years old. Apparent victim of a chemical explosion, she was killed at her place of work in guessing, due to the coat, where was it? The explosion?"

"The morgue."

"Alright. Did it...did it kill anyone else?" She asked worriedly.

"No. It damaged the room, a half dozen corpses but no one else was even injured." He assured her.

"Well there was that to be thankful at least. Which means that it was a small device, not in one of the drawers, there only appears to be glass shards, no metal shrapnel." Molly examined her body further. "There's something on the wrists. She- I..was restrained. Zip ties it looks like... But the right wrist shows signs of bruising. Me attempting to breaking free." Standing up she tilted her head to consider that. "Remember when you taught be how to do that?"

Sherlock felt that tightness return to his chest. "I should have made you practice more. Perhaps you could have gotten away."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. If this was Moriarty who wanted me dead he wasn't going to let me live, even if I did escape this. Which makes me wonder, why like this? Why not sniper? He hated getting his hands dirty after all. I get the personal interaction after all, an ex boyfriend who is still angry about her relationship with another man that he was involved with. Hurt her most likely due to that relationship. Her actions against him. Retribution."

"Part retribution, part fulfilling a long held promise he made me."

"What promise?" Molly questioned, her back still to him looking over the body. Sherlock crossed around the table to stand over, and across from her.

"When he first revealed himself, by the pool, face to face, he promised that one day he'd burn the heart out of me."

"And you thinks that meant me?" Molly questioned. "Sherlock, I'm not your heart. Your friend yes, preferred pathologist. But it's going a bit far to say that I'm your heart."

Sherlock smiled sadly at her. "I thought the same thing. How many times have I been told that I don't have a heart? Obviously I was wrong. Because Molly,loosing you is tearing me apart. I ache so much. Everything feels wrong, unbearable and wrong. Like I've been ripped wide open." Rounding the table he pulled her into his arms again. "Don't you see why I couldn't let you in closer? How it put you at risk? I don't want to feel this pain, I don't want to feel at all.

How can I deny the gap you are leaving in my life? And Molly what am I going to do...without you?"

"Sherlock?"

Molly didn't move, didn't speak. Yet he heard his name once more in a warm soft voice. "Sherlock."

"Molly, Molly tell me, what am I going to do without you?" No answer came, she just looked at him, eyes infinitely sad.

"Sherlock, love, John's back, we can get you something, If you still need it."

"Molly. Tell me!" She was frozen he realized. The room was closing around him as the noise in the flat, Mary and John, Mrs Hudson even Wiggins voice too. Discussions along with heavy footfalls."Molly" he called, she was startling to fade. He was going to loose her. "Molly stay!"

A prick pierced his arm and he felt himself being torn away from Molly and the morgue, briefly his eyes roamed over the familiar faces in the room, all looking sympathetically at him "How did Moriarty know my heart when I didn't even see it when it was right in front of me?" He mumbled as blackness overtook him, easing him into oblivion.

Around him, the faces looked at one another in silence. "That poor girl." Mrs. Hudson cried gently, "and that poor, poor boy."

Lestrade and John carried Sherlock's drugged body into his bedroom, covering his prone body the two men looked at one another shutting of the light as gripping one another's shoulders. They walked away leaving Sherlock to rest. The sedative would last several hours, just long enough to give his worn out body rest for the battle that lay ahead.

*** I read a meta forever ago about Molly in Sherlocks mind palace in hlv, and how Molly began all playful with Sherlock, calm and not at all in full tramau mode to begin with. So that's the direction I tried to take this Molly. She is here in his mind palace as a projection of her, and how she'd act. That makes it an interesting way to write, to ignore my gut Molly Hooper and to solely look, listen and anticipate her through Sherlock's minds eye I could never imagine Molly blaming Sherlock for her death, but Sherlock absolutely would. So if everything seems a bit out of character, you know why. Also, note how Sherlock was able to break down properly mentally, when physically and in person he is fighting with everything in him to stay in control, that will be another note to his hlv behavior. He's far more open in there where there's no one to see.


End file.
